


Gimme Shelter - Bellarke in Coronavirus Quarantine AU, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn

by courtneyphunter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Artist Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, Bellarke, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Episode: s04e13 Quarantine, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, POV Clarke Griffin, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, bellarke AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneyphunter/pseuds/courtneyphunter
Summary: Clarke Griffin recently dropped out of medical school against her mother’s wishes and drove halfway across the country to move back in with her estranged undergrad roommate, Raven Reyes. With a plan to work at a local cafe and focus her energy back on her art, she learns that a government-mandated quarantine is going into effect, shutting down all small businesses and leaving her with no plan on how she’s going to pull her weight for her portion of the house’s bills. One thing for sure is that she’ll have plenty of time to get to know her other roommates, Jasper, Monty, and Octavia, as well as, the ultra-mysterious and brooding Bellamy.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Finn Collins/Raven Reyes
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. Hakeldama

**Author's Note:**

> Taking my first stab at writing fan-fiction and of course, I had to test my skills out on my all time favorite TV duo #Bellarke. I was feeling extra inspired by them since season seven is on the horizon! I drew inspiration from the current global pandemic and how those around me have adapted to life in quarantine. New chapters each week!

“Slow, slow, slow,” grunted Raven as they angled a box that was filled to the brim around the corner and into her empty bedroom. Paintbrushes and squares of canvas peeked out over the edge of the box and rattled together as the girls dropped it on the dusty bedroom floor exhausted.

“That’s the last of it,” Clarke said, tucking a few rogue blonde hairs behind her ears where sweat cemented them in place. She released a heavy sigh and began to rifle through the box, “I’m all moved, huh?”

“How does it feel, roomie?” Raven outstretched a perfectly toned arm and jostled Clarke’s shoulder. “Just like the old days, right?”

“God, I hope not,” she laughed skeptically. Raven laughed in return, hearty and sincere, and for the first time all morning, Clarke felt herself relax. She and Raven had someone of a speckled history and Clarke used the conflicts of their past to fade into the ether of Raven’s life some five years ago. But the truth was, Clarke missed her dearly and having her back was the cherry on top of a much-needed series of changes in her life.

“Who was in here before?” Clarke asked as she began to line up canvases of half-finished landscapes against the exposed brick. She ran her fingers along a shelf that hung midway up the wall. It was blanketed in a veil of dust like the room hadn’t been used for a long time.

“It’s been a while, honestly. Last was Bellamy’s ex, Gina. She started as a tenant, but then they became more and it got messy very shortly after she moved into his room,” explained Raven. She scanned the room and harpooned a paintbrush in Clarke’s direction. “It’s the best one in the house, lucky bitch.”

“How are you doing, really?” Raven’s voice sobered.

“Considering the fact that I’m a med school dropout moving in with four strangers and my estranged undergrad roommate, and my first day at a new job waiting tables is currently being threatened by the onset of a global pandemic, I could be better,” Clarke laughed wryly.

“Hey now, you’re the estranged college roommate, okay?” Raven joked.

“I’m sorry, you know that?” said Clarke. “I’m not sure if I ever said that.”

“I know,” nodded Raven. “I’m glad we’re reconnecting.”

“New Girl,” came from the doorway in sing-song unison. Clarke looked up to see two unfamiliar faces eying her excitedly. One had chaotic hair and coke-bottle glasses perched on his nose, and the other had thick, black bangs that were side-swept like they belonged in 2009.

“Clarke, meet your roommates: Jasper and Monty,” Raven rolled her eyes playfully. The boys didn’t wait for an invitation to cross the threshold and soon, they were handing out unlabeled, brown beer bottles with wine corks holding their contents in place.

“Figured we could toast to your arrival,” The boy with the bangs spoke first. He extended his hand for a proper introduction. “I’m Monty, Monty Green.”

“Clarke Griffin,” said Clarke, her hand meeting his for a shake. She lifted the bottle to examine it further, her movement kicking up a layer of silt from its bottom. “What do we have here?”

“I’m not quite sure what you would call it. Monty and Jasper have been taking Quarantine pretty seriously,” said Raven.

“Since February,” chimed Jasper, cutting her off.

“And they’ve taken to home brewing to occupy their time,” Raven finished her thought as she pulled the cork from her bottle. “Bottom’s up.”

“Welcome, Clarke,” said Jasper as they all tapped their bottles together.

“What exactly are you home brewing?” Clarke asked as she choked down her first sip. The liquid was thick and sweet, but with a yeasty taste that made her mouth feel dry like she just ate a mouthful of bread.

“Mead,” Monty said like it should have been obvious. “It’s a homemade honey-based wine. We named the batch Hakeldama.”

He was unwavering as he spoke and Clarke started to flush, feeling unsure of how seriously she should take him. The last thing that she wanted to do was offend her new roommate.

“It tastes like shit. You don’t have to pretend,” said Raven.

“I’m sorry, it’s not for me,” Clarke let out a snorty laugh.

“It will be once this quarantine shuts down the liquor stores and you’re all out of booze,” shot Jasper. “Practice powering through, because Hakeldama will fuck you up if you give it the chance.”

“We have a lot more where that came from too,” added Monty, guilting Clarke into taking another sip. “If it helps, I’m almost certain that no germ could survive it. All things considered, that’s a plus, right?”

“Yeah, literally, we have a bathtub full,” said Jasper, taking a swig of his bottle and pretending like the taste didn’t make him flinch.

“A what?” Clarke spat out the liquid, making a sticky mess for herself to clean up later.

“A bathtub,” said Monty with the same tone as if this too should have been obvious. “How do you think they did it in the old days?”

“You’re using your bathtub? My god,” said Raven, handing the bottle back to Monty. “When was the last time that you showered?”

“We use Bellamy’s when he’s at work,” added Jasper, prompting Monty to dig an elbow into his friend’s side.

“He’s going to love that,” Raven let out a foreboding laugh. She turned to Clarke to provide more clarification. “They live in the basement together. I had no idea what their brewing process entailed or else I wouldn’t have let them serve you bathwater.”

“Who’s this?” asked Clarke as a tiny, black Chihuahua waddled into the room, barking up a storm. She stopped before Clarke, growling a bit before curling up into a ball at Jasper’s feet.

“This is Miss Alie,” said Jasper, picking her up and snuggling her up to his face.

“Miss Alie is your sixth roommate and it seems like her mother has neglected to watch her yet again. So busy with her budding Tik Tok career, that one,” said Raven, reaching for the pup who snarled back at her reaching hands. “Enough, Alie, you’re going back to your mother.”

Jasper grumbled as Raven took the dog and tucked her under her arm, “C'mon Clarke, I’ll give you a tour while we take her back.”

“Wait, you haven’t seen it yet?” asked Jasper, keeping stride with her as they went for the hallway.

“I mean, yeah, but only in pictures,” said Clarke.

“Then we’re coming, too. We’ll be far better tour guides than Raven,” said Monty, trailing them.

They walked down the long and narrow hall like baby ducks following their mother. Above them hung a series of chandeliers all made from random objects, trash can lids, soda cans, and so much more. On the first chandelier, trash can lids were organized to look like shields for battle, and on the two after that, cans were fashioned into shapes that looked like helmets and tiny daggers, respectively. They were strange and beautiful, giving the hallway a hazy glow. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it seemed like there had to be some sort of theme among them.

“Who made these?” asked Clarke, marveling at them as she passed beneath.

“Bellamy,” said Raven.

“Don’t talk about them or he’ll get mad,” added Jasper with a snickery-laugh.

“Bellamy sounds intense,” said Clarke, hoping that someone would shed a little bit more light onto her mysterious landlord.

“He is,” said Raven. “But he means well. I promise you’ll like him.”

Clarke didn’t buy Raven’s response. She hadn’t been around Raven in a while, but her tell when it came to lying hadn’t changed a bit. A crinkled nose and a few extra eyelash flutters told Clarke all she needed to know.

Further down the hall, she noticed what looked like an airplane door mounted above a real one, and as she got closer she noticed that it had the words “THE DROPSHIP” painted on it in bold red font.

“The Dropship?” asked Clarke, unsure of what it meant.

“Ahhhh, yes,” Raven said. “This is our darling Bellamy’s room.”

“This building used to be an aeronautical parts factory before it became this. All of our rooms were offices,” said Jasper.

“How did you even find this place, Raven?”

“I didn't…. Bellamy did. Back when he was in undergrad, he and his roommate, Atom, were looking for a legendary party house. They begged the owner of this place to lease it to them. He agreed on the condition: that they leave the place in better shape than they found it. You’ll see a lot of repurposed junk throughout the place. Bellamy kind of picked up a knack for it after being here for so long. I guess the sign is a bit of nostalgia,” explained Raven.

“Bellamy told me that the sign used to hang above their smoosh room back in the day and if I’m right, that’s your room now,” prodded Jasper, clearly aware that he would strike a chord with Raven.

“And I’ll never forget how many times I scrubbed those floors once I moved in,” said Raven, not holding back as she shoved Jasper into the wall. She turned to Clarke, “Charming, right?”

They moved further down the hall until they reached a door that had bright blue paper-mâché covering its frame. The sound of “Savage” by Megan Thee Stallion thumped from beneath the door.

“And now you get to meet the reason that Bellamy stays,” Raven said as she gripped the brass doorknob.

As she pushed open the door, she revealed an incredibly-toned girl in a matching set of Champion sweats gyrating along to the pounding bass. She screamed out of surprise like a final girl in a slasher fic, and from her peripheral, Clarke caught Raven roll her eyes.

“Can’t you see I’m doing something? Ugh, that was the first time that I nailed the choreo and now I’m going to have to record it again,” Octavia grimaced as she closed out of the app on her phone. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, your dog almost attacked our new roommate,” Raven embellished as she placed Alie on the ground so that she could scurry back to her mother.

“Oh no,” stammered Clarke, hoping to stay in Octavia’s good graces. “She really didn’t try to attack me.”

The room was an absolute mess except for the small corner that Octavia tidied to keep up with appearances in her video. Crumpled beer cans and fast food wrappers collected on her desk and clothes formed mountain ranges on her floor. It didn’t take long for Alie to find one and settle into it.

“Are you Clarke?” Asked Octavia, desperate to pull the attention away from her disastrous quarters.

“Yeah,” said Clarke. She extended her hand to the girl, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Octavia smiled, but it faded quickly. She turned to Raven, “Now is there anything else?”

“No, Octavia,” Raven smiled like she was unfazed. “We’ll be on our way.”

The tour made its way back into the hallway and Raven pulled the door shut behind them.

“Jasper and Monty have gotten Octavia on their side with self-quarantining. She’s been pursuing Tik Tok stardom for the last week,” explained Raven, using a serious tone, but lifting her eyebrows skeptically to punctuate her sentence. “There’s an unwritten clause in the lease agreement that states that you have to be nice to the boss’s sister.”

“I’m curious, what did you mean when you said she’s the reason Bellamy stays?” asked Clarke. It seemed obvious to her that there was something off about the girl.

“Well, Octavia’s had a rough couple of years. Two years ago, Bellamy and Octavia’s mother died, and once Bellamy finally put his sister back together almost a year later, her boyfriend Lincoln passed too,” explained Raven.

“Jesus,” said Clarke, immediately feeling a flush of guilt for judging the way Octavia’s room looked. Clarke had lost her father back in high school and she couldn’t imagine losing someone else important so quickly after the loss of a parent. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Bellamy was actually offered a really prestigious fellowship with Princeton for his doctorate, but he turned it down to stay here with her while she finishes out undergrad,” added Monty.

“And let’s just say she’s taken a victory lap,” quipped Jasper.

“More like two,” said Monty. “And now Bellamy works at the bar on our corner.”

“And you know not to talk about any of this ever, right? Because that’s another unwritten clause in the lease,” Raven turned around to flash a phony smile at Clarke and then turned to the boys. “You both need to stop talking.”

“Holy shit,” said Clarke, not even needing an excuse to change the subject. The end of the hallway opened up into a loft that overlooked the living room with enormous vaulted ceilings. The loft had a random collection of furniture including adult-sized bean bags and a trio of hammocks strung from a single beam that hung lower than all of the others. She couldn’t help herself from running to the wrought iron railing at the edge of the loft for a better view.

“Wow,” said Clarke. “This is incredible.”

Downstairs, four different, mismatched couches were organized into a u-shape around a television. Adorned with pillows of varying shape, style, and material with quirky sentiments stamped or embroidered onto them, the couches looked incredibly cozy. Blankets hung over their arms and were draped across their backs, and Clarke couldn’t help but imagine cozying up with a cup of tea in one of their corners to get lost in her sketchbook.

“This is really her first time seeing it?” asked Monty.

“Yeah, I took her through the back entrance to load in since it’s closer to her room,” replied Raven.

“I’m glad we waited. What a surprise!” said Clarke, admiring the way the square-paned windows practically stretched from floor to ceiling, creating a grid-like structure that looked like a giant piece of graph paper. “Raven, how did you end up in here?”

“Well, our charming ex Finn moved in here while we were both working on our master’s, and so, I was around a lot. Once we split and he left, I ended up taking his old room. It’s been a pretty steady rotation of roommates since. I think our lineup that included Gina was the longest the place saw in the last three years,” said Raven.

Ex was a generous term and Clarke felt another flash of guilt color her face. Finn and Raven dated the entire stretch of undergrad and he and Clarke had a short-lived affair during Raven’s study abroad semester in Beijing during the fall of their senior year. They managed to figure things out and Clarke quickly cut herself out of their lives in hopes of giving them a chance to enjoy what they managed to salvage of their relationship. It seemed to have worked; they hung on together for another two years until they wrapped up their master’s degrees.

Clarke went for the staircase to hide the embarrassment on her face. Fairy lights were woven around the railing and random collections of potted plants sat at each of the three landings. As she neared the bottom of the steps, she noticed pairs of shoes, purses, and books, as if it was some sort of personal belonging purgatory where they had to wait until someone took them to their proper home.

As she reached the bottom, she saw a copy of Helmet for My Pillow and snatched it, “Oh my god, who’s reading this? It was my dad’s favorite book.”

“I am,” a voice bellowed deeply, followed by the sound of a closing door.

The voice startled Clarke, which prompted her to drop the book and sent it tumbling down the remaining few stairs. Quickly, she went after it, but a large hand closed around it before she could get to it. Clarke looked up and her eyes locked with an intensely brown pair. Freckles were littered across the nose of the man in front of her and his brows were furrowed in frustration. His black hair that had been grown out to his shoulders was pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck. Inky black tattoos peeked out from under the sleeves of his battered Velvet Underground t-shirt. The shirt was almost threadbare in certain places and it looked like it was working hard to keep itself together over the expanse of his especially broad shoulders.

“Clarke, this is Bellamy,” said Raven.

He tucked the book into the back pocket of his jeans and Clarke forgot what she was supposed to say as she watched the muscles in his forearm move to do the work. His brow furrowed deeper like he was inconvenienced by the formalities she was so obviously delaying.

“Clarke Griffin,” said Clarke, extending her hand hesitantly.

“Bellamy Blake,” he said as his hand met hers.

“I didn’t expect you to be home so soon,” said Raven.

“Bars closed,” he grumbled as he turned from them and went for the kitchen, which Clarke could now see was connected to the living room, tucked underneath the loft. She followed him a bit to get a better look at the space. The condiments rattled as he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. “You should try watching the news for once. They’re closing all non-essential businesses at 5 PM today. It was dead at the bar, so I let Luna stay so that she could at least make a few bucks for the kids before things went entirely to shit.”

“Wait, what?” Clarke said, her heartbeat starting to ring in her ears. She was supposed to start at the café tomorrow. She mumbled under her breath, “Fuck.”

He paused to take a big sip of his beer and then fixed his eyes directly on Clarke, “You know some people are actually taking this thing seriously.”

It felt like a dig and it probably was. She did just drive from Chicago, stopping at tolls, gas stations, and rest stops, just to get clear of her mother’s grip. It was selfish and probably a bit of unnecessary risk, but she was desperate to get free.

Raven was quick to her defense, “Yeah, the two girls that crawled out of your room at 6 AM yesterday seemed to be taking it really seriously.”

“Two?” said Clarke, the words escaping before she even realized what she was saying. Monty and Jasper burst into laughter and Raven sent her a glary-look like the one she seemed to constantly be giving to the two giggling boys behind her.

“Yeah, it’s called a three-way,” said Bellamy, slamming his beer on the counter. “Ever had one?”

Clarke couldn’t help but chuckle and it clearly agitated Bellamy. He quickly swiped the bottle from the counter and went for the stairs.

“Great job,” said Raven. She shook her head, “Way to get off on the right foot with him.”

“Well, technically, you had to get all jealous and bring up the girls,” jabbed Jasper.

“Jealous? Bellamy?” said Clarke in astonishment. “God, he doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Twice. It was after Finn and both times we were drunk,” Raven patience for Jasper and Monty was waning.

Before anyone could say more, the phone in Clarke’s back pocket began to vibrate and chirp out its familiar jingle. She knew what was coming before she flipped it over to read “Arkadia Café.” She held it up to show Raven and the girl offered an apologetic grimace in return.

“This is Clarke Griffin,” she uttered into the phone, bracing herself for what was to come. She was going to lose her job before she even started. Her plan to get her life back was off to a less than stellar start. She mouthed to Raven, “Work. It’s not good.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Raven as soon as Clarke hung up the phone.

The tears welling in Clarke’s eyes must have been more apparent than she thought.

“What am I going to do?” said Clarke, letting out the sigh that was building up in her chest.

“You better figure it out,” Bellamy’s voice boomed from the top of the stairs. Her face immediately went hot at the realization that he was still in earshot. Mortified, she fumbled to come up with a reply, but before she could, Bellamy fired back with provocation in his voice. “Let me know if you need any ideas.”


	2. The Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke get used to living with one and other and begin to cement a bond together through a quarantine essentials grocery shopping trip. All seems to be going smoothly until Clarke receives a call from her mother, and and what seamed as a new leaf turned over, quickly turns into a tense blowout between the pair.

The concrete floor of the living room was cold as she padded across it to get to the kitchen. The strong smell of coffee invaded her nostrils in the best way possible; she wasn't alone. I wonder who else is an early riser, she thought to herself.

Bellamy. Of course, he is.

Tucked back into the corner of the kitchen on a stool at the island countertop, a shirtless Bellamy sipped on a steaming mug of coffee and held a print copy of the local paper in his hands. Slowly he lowered the paper to look at who was intruding upon his morning piece. His tired brown eyes didn't look surprised.

"You're an early riser too, huh?" asked Clarke.

"It's the only time you can get a little peace around here," he grumbled, voice tired and groggy in a way that she couldn't help but like. His shoulder-length hair was out of its bun and hanging into his face as he spoke, "Although it seems like that's not the case anymore."

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't know," he glared as Clarke fumbled her words. "Look, Bellamy, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

He stood without saying anything, giving her a sinking feeling. Why is he so desperate to avoid me?

"Don't leave," she pleaded, unsure of why she wanted his seal of approval. It was unlike her. Normally, guys like this would receive a swift "go fuck yourself," but something about him was different.

"I'm not," he said over his shoulder as he turned towards the coffee maker on the counter and reached for the pot. He's getting more coffee. Why am I such an idiot?

But then, he reached for a clean mug from a small silver stand on the counter and began to fill it up. When he turned back to her, his face was softer, apologetic even, and he started in her direction. He placed the mug in front of her with a smile that was almost undetectable.

"Sugar's on the counter, milk in the fridge," said Bellamy.

"This is fine," she smiled as she brought the cup to her lips. "Thank you."

He nodded back.

She let her eyes hang on him a bit as he made his way back to his place. Grey sweat pants hung low on his hips and a trail of freckles draped his shoulders the same way they did his nose. Each of his tattoo sleeves followed a familiar pattern coming down to just above his wrists and creeping their way on to his back. One arm seemed to be of traditional-Japanese with swirling black patterns and vibrant colored flowers. The other was a bit harder to place. Hand-drawn and painterly flowers climbed up his arm like vines. She preferred this arm much more.

"I do my best painting in the morning, so I won't be here to bother you long," said Clarke as she brought the mug up for another sip.

He didn't say anything and instead began to rifle through the pages of the paper. It made her wonder if his most recent peace offering was the fullest extent of his kindness, but then he pulled out a section and laid it flat on the table. He placed his wide palm in the center and pushed it in her direction. The pages didn't make it all the way, so she walked to the center of the table to collect it.

He sent the music & arts section of the paper. A smile betrayed her as she collected it and she nodded a "thank you" in return.

It was a while before any of their roommates joined them and quickly, she understood what he meant about peace. Raven was first and a thunderous chorus of cabinets slamming followed her. She fixed a heaping bowl of sugary cereal and soon rhythmic crunching filled the air.

Bellamy peeked over his paper and shot an "I told you so" glance at Clarke and in turn, she let out a snickery laugh.

"I see you two are getting along much better today," said Raven through a mouthful. "Maybe with all your free you could hit up a grocery store. We got nothing."

"And how do you figure that, Reyes," said Bellamy, folding his paper into a neat rectangle. Clarke could tell he was in the acceptance stage of mourning his peaceful morning.

"Well, I'm working from home starting today and I'd love to see you try and get the other three out of the house," Raven shot back. "Actually, good luck trying to get Octavia up before noon, because the Tik Tok production studio was going until 2 AM."

"Fine," Bellamy conceded and Clarke could tell it as on behalf of his sister like he wanted to protect her and smooth over any trouble she caused all at once.

"I have no problem going too. If we're going to stock up, you'll need an extra set of hands," Clarke volunteered.

"It's settled then," said Raven. "I'll start making a list."

***

The car ride was quiet, except for the loud choking sound that came from the exhaust of Bellamy's old, beat-up pickup. The truck was red with a mineral white stripe down the sides and rust ate its way to any place there was an edge. A song from The Smith's moaned through the speakers and upon hearing it, it made her smile. Her father loved The Smith's, but also, how predictably angsty of a soundtrack for Bellamy.

She didn't mean to be so quiet for the drive. Thinking about it, she probably seemed standoffish, but a series of texts from her mother bubbled their way up the lock screen of her iPhone and soured her mood. She didn't swipe them open and each time the phone would illuminate to remind her of her notifications, she felt a pang of anger that in turn made her feel guilty. How am I going to pay for anything past this round of groceries and first month's rent without relying on my mother who I'm currently avoiding, she thought to herself.

Her relationship with her mother was a tumultuous one, and increasingly so in the last few years. The strain was motivated by the fact that Abby barely waited a month after her husband's death to take up a relationship with one of her colleagues, Marcus Kane, which gave Clarke a sinking suspicion that she had taken part in an extramarital affair during her father's demise. And finally, during their last blowout, Abby copped to it, prompting Clarke's departure from Chicago.

Explosive arguments between the women were common and mostly because Abby's stifling behavior would close in on Clarke until she felt the need to, well, explode. After her father's death, Clarke became her mother's everything and Abby did all she could to keep Clarke close. She went as far as getting Clarke a residency in the hospital where she worked as a neurosurgeon and leasing Clarke a luxe apartment barely a five-minute walk away.

On one hand, Clarke understood and felt a duty to remain with her mother, who unraveled a little more with each passing year. On the other, she sometimes felt like she accepted a life that she didn't want just to please someone else, and that drove her crazy. That kind of behavior would have plain, old disappointed her father.  
"Let's make this quick," said Bellamy, pulling her back to reality. She scanned the parking lot around and soon her chest felt tight. 

Carts brimming with supplies moved every which way throughout the parking lot and every person pushing them had their face partially covered with a mask. Even from her position from the passenger seat, she could see the panic in their eyes. Is it really going to be this bad?

"Bellamy, wait," said Clarke, reaching her arm across to stop him. Her palm found the center of his chest and the warmth that radiated from it made her conscious of what her hand had done. Quickly, she pulled her hand away, embarrassed by what she had done. She coughed to clear away the tension that had built in her throat, "I think we maybe need masks. Do you have anything in here? A bandana or an extra shirt or something?"

He reached across the cab of the truck to get into the glove compartment, the side of his forearm grazing her knee as he did. He used his middle and index finger to pull back on the lever to open it. On the inside, there was a bandana amongst a half-smoked pack of cigarettes and a ripped open box of condoms. Clarke rolled her eyes to herself.  
Bellamy dropped the bandana in her lap and went for the door handle. Clarke tied the bandana over her hair and followed his lead.

Outside of the truck, Bellamy went for a cart and pulled the sleeves of his blue, waffle-knit Henley over his hands and began wiping off the handlebar of the cart with the fabric.

"That's not going to do anything," said Clarke, the fabric kept the heat of her words on her face and she could smell the bitterness of coffee on the breath that bounced against her skin.

"Says the girl who's wearing a bandana like this is a stickup or something," said Bellamy.

"There's a bit more logic in the bandanas. They don't protect you from contracting; they protect you from spreading if you're infected. So if everyone wears one, unlike you, we can do our part to slow the spread," she explained.

"I forgot you're like a doctor or something, right?" he asked as they passed the doors that parted before them.

As they did, she looked up at herself in the security monitor that was mounted in the same place in every market ever. She looked fearsome with the bandana and her beat-up leather jacket like she was some sort of post-apocalyptic warrior. Bellamy, on the other hand, looked out of place next to her. Cool and calm as his wide gate carried him out of frame. And as they passed, she couldn't help but notice the way that he towered over her.

"Not quite," said Clarke, her lips pulling into a forced smile that he would never see.

"Let's split up," said Bellamy as if he were talking battle strategy. "You take the perimeter for fresh and frozen and I'll get dry goods."

"Do you have Raven's list?" asked Clarke.

Bellamy raised one of his brows and produced a smile that seemed to tell her that she should have known better than to ask. He reached his hand into the pocket of his jeans and produced a folded up piece of paper between his pointer and middle fingers.

Clarke plucked the paper from his hand and unfolded it.

Almond Milk.

"She's brilliant, but easily distracted," said Bellamy with a hearty laugh.

"I should have known," Clarke shook her head, reflecting on all the days where Raven would have starved if Clarke didn't make something for her to eat. It was so easy for her to get lost in her work and to forget to come up for air. "I'll do my best."

They split up to follow their missions and soon enough, a pile of produce, chicken breast, and ground turkey was practically spilling out of her arms. She went for the middle aisles to find Bellamy so that she could drop her findings in the cart.

In the middle of the cereal aisle, Bellamy was comparing two different Fruit Roll-Up and Gusher variety packs as if his decision would forever change the course of history.

"Is there a toddler in our house that I'm unaware of?" Clarke said as she approached him from behind, startling him to the point where he dropped one of the boxes.

He put the one that remained in his hand on the shelf and tossed the box that fell to the floor into the cart, "Yeah, have you met our roommates?"

She looked into the cart to find a sea of sugary cereals, junk food, and ice cream.

"You can't be serious, Bellamy?" Clarke folded her arms and rested them on her chest. The gesture caught Bellamy's attention and the way his eyes hovered longer than they should have made her pale cheeks flush.

He coughed to reinforce the strength in his voice and picked up a pack of ground turkey, "You're going to have to force-feed this shit to my sister."

"Out of my way," said Clarke, shouldering him away from the cart's handlebar and making him laugh a little. She pushed the cart down the aisle and he followed her like a lost dog. "We need non-perishables."

Midway down the aisle, he stopped the cart by reaching around her from behind to tug on the handlebar. His chest swept against her hair as he reached toward the shelf producing a cloud of his musk in perfect range for her to savor. She could hear his right arm move by her ear and soon another box tumbled into the cart.

"Go-Go Squeeze?" said Clarke. She could understand Fruit Roll-Ups, she hadn't had one in years, and quarantine seemed like the perfect excuse, but Go-Go Squeeze? This really was for toddlers.

"It's Octavia's favorite," said Bellamy with a shrug that robbed her of her will to tell him no.

And so they did the rest of the store together, Clarke adding things that Bellamy would sneakily put back and she doing the same to him. Something about it was nice, fun even, and she felt a sense of peace to be getting along better with him even if they walked through to check out with a cart half full of things with nutritional value and half full of things that had absolutely none.

As they loaded their spoils into the bed of his pick-up, she could feel her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans and she couldn't help but feel like she knew where it was going. Three days was the longest they had ever gone without speaking, it had to be her mother.

She climbed into the cab causing the phone to slip out of her pocket and onto the beat-up leather seat that seemed to somehow amplify the sound of another call. The screen lit up with a notification.

Missed Call from Mom (2)

"You can get that if you want, I don't mind," said Bellamy as he buckled himself in and turned over the engine.

"It's fine, she can wait," said Clarke and with that came call number three.

"Isn't she a healthcare worker? It could be something serious with all of this going on," he added. She could tell he meant well from the way that his voice softened, but he had no idea of the storm that had been brewing between them.

"Yeah, she is," Clarke let out an exasperated sigh. "But, I really doubt this is about that."

The fourth call came in; making her feel like her blood was going to boil.

"Fine," she smiled at him as she swiped the bar to open the call. "Hi, Mom."

And like that, Abby Griffin was off. No greeting and very obviously no guilt over what she had done.

"Clarke, honey, we need you at the hospital. You need to put your needs aside and consider what's going on with everyone else right now," Abby barked into the phone.

"Mom," Clarke started but was instantly cut off.

"The hospital is currently revamping the fifth-floor annex as a COVID-19 wing, I can make sure that you're in there. This will be fantastic for your career, honey."

Her boiling blood began to spill over and she was now seeing red. Enough was enough.

"Mom," Clarke practically growled cutting off her mother. "You want me to put my needs aside so that I can consider yours. You want me to be back in Chicago, that's what this is about. I'm your daughter, you should be relieved that I'm not working in an environment where I could get exposed anymore."

Clarke hung up the phone and took a deep breath. She was not going to feel guilty for doing what she needed to make herself happy. She had denied her own happiness in support of the happiness of others for far too long. She simply couldn't do it anymore.

But once she came back down to reality, she sensed that the mood in the truck had changed. Bellamy was a new kind of tense and his knuckles were white from how hard they gripped the wheel.

"I would literally kill for another phone call with my mom," his voice was angry.

"Bellamy, you don't understand," sighed Clarke. "There's a lot of bad shit between us."

"No, I do. Mine wasn't perfect, far from it," said Bellamy. He tried to keep his eyes fixed on the steering wheel, but he couldn't. He looked to her, eyes brimming with tears, and continued, "But god, to hear her voice just one more time."

Clarke felt a deep pang of guilt and she pushed a hard swallow down her throat as she tried to think of what to say. And so, she said nothing. They rode the rest of the way home in silence that was so uncomfortable it almost hurt. So much for starting to get along with him…

He rolled the car to a stop outside of their place and threw on his blinkers, honking twice to let their roommates know to come out and help. Clarke went for the door, desperate to get out of the car, but before she could close it, he started again, "How could you throw away school like that?"

She tried to be sympathetic towards him, she understood that it probably hurt him to watch someone pass up on the life he desperately wanted: her mother was alive and she was so close to graduating a doctor. But the envy that he was feeling was just like that she felt towards her every artist on Instagram. She didn't care about having five other roommates or learning to live on a budget if that meant she was making. So she understood, she knew how he felt towards her, but it couldn't stop her from going back at him.

"What are you working for her?" Clarke practically growled at him.

"Good one, princess," shot Bellamy.

She couldn't help the words that came next; there was nothing she hated more than the fact that her mother practically handed her life to her. It was part of the reason she was so desperate to break free of it.

"Fuck you," said Clarke, looking right into his tempestuous eyes.

Bellamy didn't answer; instead, he banged his fist against the steering wheel producing a dull thud that sounded painful. She turned away and didn't look back to see if he was okay.

As she crossed through the door of their house, Raven was bounding her way down the stairs.

"He needs help with the groceries," Clarke hissed as she moved around her to get to her bedroom as soon as she could.

"Clarke?" said Raven, clearly confused by her tone.

Clarke ignored her and went for her room, desperate to conceal the tears that were streaming down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying my writing, check out my website COURTNEYPHUNTER.COM. I am preparing to launch a sci-fi novel and its protaganists are loosely inspired by #Bellarke. Due out October 30, 2020, Sentience explores the ethics of Artificial Intelligence by way of a re-imagined Turing Test with a bit of romance and all sorts of chaos mixed in.


	3. One. One. Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia does her best to smooth the tension between her brother and her new roommate, Clarke. Octavia tries everything from a binge watch with mimosas all the way to inviting Clarke to join in on her at home workouts. Unfortunately, those happen to be led by none other than her brother Bellamy.

She walked into the kitchen, half anxious and half hopeful, but she realized that her emotion was wasted upon discovering an empty kitchen. With her eyes still throbbing from last night's tears and nothing on her schedule for the day, she didn't bother to make a morning cup of coffee. There was no need for its bitter jolt, so instead, she went back to her bedroom and curled back under her comforter that still smelled of the back seat of her Subaru station wagon.

It wasn't until around noon that she stirred again, and this time, when she made her way back to the kitchen, she wasn't alone. The refrigerator was open, casting a dull light out into the room full of overcast morning gloom, and between the doors, a small, brunette rifled through it. Octavia.

"Good morning," said Octavia as she turned to face Clarke. She slammed two bottles on the island countertop: one a corkless bottle of prosecco and the other a half-finished container of Orange-Mango V8. "Want a mimosa? I'm going to have one and restart That 70s Show from the beginning if you want to join."

A V8 and flat prosecco mimosa, she thought. This was going to get interesting.

"Sure," smiled Clarke with skepticism. 

As soon as she spoke, tiny barks that sounded more like chirps filled the air. Alie.

"I promise she'll warm up to you," said Octavia as she picked up the tiny dog and sat her atop the counter. "The only person she doesn't get along with is Raven, and that's because she doesn't make any effort."

Octavia gave the dog some quick pets behind its ears, and Alie nuzzled against her hand in gratitude. 

"If only Raven learned to love and accept you, her life would be so much better," said Octavia in a baby-talk kind of voice. "Right, Alie?"

"Talking shit again," said Raven, startling them both and prompting the chirpy-barks to start again. "Good morning to you too, Alie. What are you guys up to?"

"Mimosas," smiled Octavia as she made her first pour into a beer glass. "Would you care to join us?"

Raven eyed the counter and judged the ingredients, "That is so not a mimosa, but yes, I'd love one. I can't take another virtual meeting that could have been an e-mail. Count me in."

Octavia topped the first one with a heavy-handed pour of V8 and sent it in Raven's direction, where she took a long pull.

"Don't get your hopes up, Clarke," she said with a thick swallow. "The prosecco is completely flat."

"I'm doing my best, but we definitely should have stocked up on some booze. We're going to be drinking Jasper and Monty's swill before the day is through if this binge-watch takes the trajectory that I'd like it too," shrugged Octavia as she topped off Clarke's mimosa and pushed it across the counter.

"Clarke, maybe you and Bellamy could take another adventure and score us some," Raven said with a provocative smirk, forcing Clarke to fight to keep the sip she just took inside the walls of her mouth. Between the drink's thick texture, overly sweet taste, and subtle notes of carrot, coupled with her desperate need to object, doing so was proving difficult. 

"Yeah, right," she said once she choked the liquid down. 

"What happened?" said Raven, hesitant, but unable to deny her curiosity.

Had it not been for Octavia, perhaps Clarke would have told her, but she didn't want to ruin her only seemingly positive Blake connection by badmouthing the other.

"Is it okay if I don't want to talk about it?" asked Clarke, forcing down another sip. The taste was awful, but she was aching for the fuzzy tinge of buzz that would dull her edges.

"Of course it is," said Raven.

"Bellamy is a dick," said Octavia, finally filling her own cup. "He means well, and his heart is in the right place, but he's awful with communicating and a total hot head. Don't take it personally."

"I'll try that," said Clarke, taking another sip so that her glass would hide the roll of her eyes.

"Come on," said Octavia, her gentle voice further softened by sympathy. "Let's start our binge watch?"

"A binge-watch? Count me in," said Raven, heading for the stairs. "I'll get my computer so that I can knock out some work while we watch."

Clarke and Octavia found spots on the couch and settled into the mess of pillows and blankets. It was warm and cozy, but despite her best efforts, her body wouldn't fully sink into the softness. Instead, she remained on alert, waiting for the inevitable and awkward moment when Bellamy would enter the living room.

"Here, take Alie," said Octavia, extending her arms with the tiny dog in her palms. Alie always had a generally unamused expression on her face as if she knew something that the humans didn't. Octavia nodded at the dog to let Clarke know that she should take her, "I promise her cuddles will make you feel better."

"Fat chance," said Raven as she flopped onto the empty couch prompting an eye roll from Octavia.

"Don't listen to her," said Octavia.

"Thanks," said Clarke as she received the dog and placed her in her lap. Alie sat straight and shivered like she would rather have been with her mother than a stranger as Clarke gave her little scratches behind her ears. Eventually, Alie gave up and reluctantly succumbed to the nap that the pets had prompted.

"Isn't it so dreamy that they're really in love in real life?" asked Octavia as the first episode ended with Jackie and Kelso making out in a broken-down car. "She was fourteen when they started filming. Somethings are just meant to be."

"It is," said Clarke as she thought about it. She imagined what it'd be like growing up together over eight seasons as on-screen lovers. Ashton even had an entire relationship, a marriage, and they still ended up together. It was like it was fate or something. Fate like that must be nice, she thought.

"Oh please," said Raven, still as cynical as she was in undergrad.

The girl's giggles faded into silence quickly, telling Clarke one thing. Her fate that promised awkwardness and discomfort had arrived. Bellamy stomped down the stairs.

"Fuck," said Octavia, throwing her head back to sink the remaining contents of her glass.

"What?" Clarke whispered so that Bellamy wouldn't hear her.

"We doing this or what, O?" Bellamy's voice boomed. She forced herself to look at him and noticed that he had a set of boxing gloves and matching sparring pads in his hands. A rectangular, terry cloth sweat towel was draped over his shoulder.

"We box," shrugged Octavia. "Or at least we did before all of this. We started when we were kids. My mom used to clean this gym, and they would let her bring us and take classes while she worked since she couldn't afford a sitter. We'd stay after close and keep practicing while she finished up whatever she couldn't do with the clients there." 

The memory brought a fond smile to Octavia's face.

"Octavia was training for her first amateur match before all of this. She's a damn good fighter," Bellamy said proudly. "She also told me that we would start at home workouts today so that all of her hard work didn't go to waste."

Clarke felt a little relief that they seemed to still be on speaking terms. Or were they? She couldn't quite tell if he was answering her question, addressing the group, or trying to reprimand his adult sister. A wave of uneasiness chased the wave away.

"Well, that's my cue to go and actually get some work done," said Raven, closing her laptop and sneaking out of dodge. Clarke resented her for making a quick getaway and leaving her in the dust.

"What are you drinking?" asked Bellamy as he reached to inspect the quarter-full glass that Raven left behind. 

"I made mimosas," said Octavia like it should have been obvious. 

"Out of what?" his brows furrowed as he sniffed the thick orange liquid. "How about this? We get through this workout, and I make you a real cocktail from the stash I have in my room."

"Now you're talking," said Octavia, springing up from the couch. She looked towards Clarke, giving her a feeling of what was coming next. She braced for impact as Octavia started again, "Why don't you join us, Clarke? You'll motivate me!"

It was a sisterly attempt to bridge the gap between them that had formed quickly and an innocent one at that. There was an air about Octavia's suggestion that made it seem as if she was certain that she could convince Clarke to see the other side of Bellamy. As both his sister and her roommate, Clarke understood why Octavia would want to see to it that the tension was dissolved.

"It's okay," Clarke stuttered. "I have some painting I should finish."

"You should stay," Bellamy added. She didn't trust his insistence, but Octavia's wide and pleading eyes were starting to wear her down. She was beginning to understand why Bellamy was wrapped around her finger.

"Uh, okay," said Clarke. "Can I change and grab my sneakers?"

"Course," said Octavia. "I'll need to do the same."

Clarke trotted to her room and went for her dresser. She pulled out a sports bra, leggings, and a racerback tank. It wasn't often that she busted out this trio, but when she did, the sports bra had to be stacked atop her regular bra due to the size of her chest. She was an adventurous girl, always down for kayaking or surfing, especially back when her father was involved, but group workouts were never her thing. Quickly, she laced her shoes and went back to join the Blakes.

In the living room, Bellamy had his shoulder driven into one of the couch's arms as he pushed it aside, and Octavia was getting a few last swipes in on her phone before their session began. It had to be Tik Tok.

"Alright, let's go," said Bellamy, quickly flipping a switch and going into trainer mode. Up close, Bellamy's thick head of sweaty black hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck and that, coupled with the sweat collecting on the gray t-shirt that stretched across his back, it seemed like he had gotten a head start on their workout while she went to change. He looked at the door and then back at her as he said his next words, "One mile."

Clarke was unsure if it was the prospect of the run or the intensity of the instructor, but her stomach churned with nerves. The trio pushed through the door and out into the fresh D.C. air. It didn't take long for the Blakes to pull away from her, and she was surprised that it didn't bother her. The run was energizing and cathartic in a way. All of the chaos seemed to melt away, and she found herself enjoying the slightest pinch of pain in her chest from using all of her energy.

The same couldn't be said for when she made it back inside to see Octavia and Bellamy side-shuffling with canned goods in their hands as if they were tracing an invisible ring.

"Come on, join in," said Bellamy, nodding to the pair of cans that were waiting for her on the island.

"Hmmm," said Clarke with a smirk. "It looks like my grocery choices are coming in handy."

Bellamy didn't say anything, but for a split second, before he turned his back to continue the shuffle pattern, she swore she saw a smile. 

Clarke jumped in, and it was barely two passes before her legs began to feel heavy with the accumulation of lactic acid. Now she understood why Octavia looked like a supermodel even though she ate like a toddler.

"Octavia, get started with some shadow boxing, I'm going to show Clarke the basics," Bellamy said through heavy breath. He turned to her next, "Clarke, grab those gloves from the couch.

It was the first time that he had spoken to her directly since the previous morning. She didn't understand it, but there was the slightest flutter in her stomach that she really didn't need right now. This is going to get interesting.

"Come here," instructed Bellamy, and she followed along, handing him the gloves that were hooked together by their Velcro. He slung them over his shoulder, tucked away a hair that had fallen out of his bun, and reached into the pockets of his sweatpants. When he pulled out his hands, they held a pair of hand wraps. "Give me your hands."

Clarke watched Bellamy intently as he wrapped her hands and helped her slide them into her gloves. Once she was geared up, he stepped next to her to show her proper stance.

"Hand up by your face at all times, unless you're throwing a punch," he instructed. She quickly followed his example. He eyed her positioning and wrapped his fingers around her wrist to make an adjustment. 

"Like you're talking on two cell phones," he raised his eyebrows to her to make sure she understood. 

Bellamy talked her through the basics: jabs, hooks, ducking and slipping. Each time she sent her arm out into the air, he would counter with a correction, but somehow it wasn't condescending; he was just a man lost in his craft. 

He was so lost that he didn't think twice about wrapping his massive hands around the curve of her hip bones to correct her footing, "You're too open. You're making yourself vulnerable."

Somehow his fingers found the single centimeter of exposed skin, where her pants didn't quite meet her top. His skin was rough and warm in a way that made her wish they found an inch instead. 

"Sorry," he sent his hands into his pockets when he realized what he had done.

"It's okay," said Clarke. 

"Alright," said Bellamy. "Let's put you to the test."

He went to grab the sparring pads. Bellamy used his teeth to pull their Velcro closures into place, and as his teeth bit down, his jaws went rigid in a way that made Clarke outright stare. 

They were quick to get into it, and she was taken back by how easy their rhythm came. Clarke followed each of his calls as they came, and she found satisfaction each time she executed a sequence perfectly. Dip. Duck. One. One. Two. 

It didn't take long for the lactic acid in her legs to creep its way up to her arms, and soon, she was fading fast.

"Do you want to tap out, Clarke?" Bellamy said with a little laughter in his voice like he was actually enjoying this too.

"No," grunted Clarke as she breathed deep to reinforce her arms. Clarke may have been out of shape, but if there was one thing she was not, it was a quitter. And so, she took another deep breath and readied herself to prove it.

Clarke began to hammer out her hardest series of punches yet, and she liked the way that her force seemed to excite Bellamy. One. Two. One. One. Two. One. One…

The last hit should have been a one, but instead, she threw a two, and it landed right between the pads that Bellamy held up in defense.

"Fuck," he said as he stumbled back. 

She couldn't tell for sure where the punch made contact, but when he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, he went right for his eye. Despite her rising guilt, she couldn't help but notice the way that his lifted shirt revealed a trail of black hair just above his navel. Get it together, Clarke.

"Let me get some ice," she fumbled and went for the kitchen." 

"He's fine," Octavia practically cackled as Clarke scoured for one of the few bags of frozen veggies that Bellamy didn't take out of their cart. She grabbed a kitchen tow that was looped through the handle on a drawer and wrapped it around the ice. 

"It's okay, Clarke," Bellamy agreed as she handed him the ice. "I've taken a hit before." 

"I'm so sorry," she said as she began to pace. Her hands kneaded her temples as she processed her actions. Her hit was going to leave a black eye. 

"That was quite the punch," Bellamy prodded as he lifted the ice and re-positioned it. "Were you holding that in from yesterday morning?"

Her face flushed, and her mouth hung ajar. She didn't know what to say.

"Relax, Clarke," a smirk lifted his cheek. He lifted the eyes to reveal an eye that was already swelling. "I'm joking."

He looked to Octavia like he was waiting for him to tell her what to say next. From the corner of her eye, Clarke caught Octavia raising her eyebrows as if she was telling him to keep going.

"And speaking of yesterday, I'm sorry," said Bellamy with an unfamiliar air of vulnerability falling on him as he did. He pushed down a thick swallow that drew Clarke's attention to his throat, and then, he continued again. "Why don't you go and shower up while Octavia finishes her conditioning? Those drinks will be waiting when you come down." 

She was dumbfounded, but eventually, she got it together enough to nod back in understanding. Who is this Bellamy?

He looked in the direction of the stairs. 

"Yeah," exhaled Clarke. "Okay."

Clarke left them behind to head for the bathroom that connected to her room. She turned the faucet on as hot as she could and pulled on the nozzle that made the water come from the overhead shower. It was hot enough to pink her skin, just how she liked it, and as the water washed over her, she couldn't help but feel like things were going to be better now. She exhaled and pulled in a deep, steamy breath.

Once she was done washing away the sweat that had accumulated from her unexpected workout, she toweled off her hair and used her bare fingers to scrunch her natural waves back to life. She pulled on a pair of terry cloth joggers and cozied into the North Face that she usually wore during her shifts at the hospital. Fresh and warm, she went back to the kitchen.

Bellamy was behind the counter with a cocktail shaker over his shoulder, and Octavia sat across from him impatiently, scrolling through Tik Tok.

"I don't understand why my video with Alie isn't more popular," she shook her head in frustration. "There's no reason that it shouldn't be."

Angrily, she swiped out of the app and locked her phone.

"Oh, hi, Clarke," said Octavia. 

Bellamy flashed a welcoming smile as he put down the shaker and arranged three glasses that were already rimmed with something that could have been salt or sugar. He dropped a few ice cubes into each and then began to pour equal portions of the amber-colored liquid into the tumblers. Once the liquid was complete, he reached for a tiny jar of cinnamon and poured it into his palm so that he could have control over the amount he sprinkled in with his fingers. He slid a drink in her direction and another in Octavia's. 

"God, your eye is awful," said Clarke, eyeing up the damage she caused as she perched atop one of the bar stools. "I'm really sorry."

"Drink," said Bellamy. "You need to relax."

Octavia raised her glass, and Clarke and Bellamy followed suit. Their glasses clinked together in the middle of the counter. 

"To new roommates," said Octavia.

Clarke and Bellamy smiled at each other. 

"Now there's something I never thought I'd see," Octavia mocked them.

Before anyone could say more, the doorbell rang and echoed its way through the lofty ceilings.

"Yes," squealed Octavia. "I didn't think it was supposed to come until tomorrow."

"Oh boy," muttered Bellamy and took a long pull of the drink.

Clarke did the same as Octavia hopped from her stool and ran towards the door. The drink that Bellamy made was sweet and strong with warmth and pucker all at once. It was like a cidery, sweet tea, with a big kick at the end of each sip. It was the kind of drink that treated you like a lady, but also put a little hair on your chest.

Before her next sip, Octavia was back and slamming a big brown box on the countertop as her feet practically slid out from beneath her.

"It's here, it's here," her voice was sing-songy.

"What is here, O?" asked Bellamy.

"A karaoke machine!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying my writing, please check out my website COURTNEYPHUNTER.COM. I've also been posting past season recaps of The 100 on my podcast, The Sentience Podcast (on Apple Podcasts and Google Play), in preparation for the launch of season seven. Once season seven airs, we'll be recapping each new episode as they air.


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